Ruin
by jollygreendragon
Summary: All it takes for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing. But when all hope is lost, what is left to be done? The story of a young warrior's struggle for survival, and how the choices of others damned him before he was even born. M-rated just to be safe. Contains dark themes, harsh language, and mild sexuality.
1. Chapter 1

**Golden Sun belongs to Nintendo and Camelot, not me. Support them if you like the series! I just write fanstuff. And if you feel like borrowing any of my original ideas, please, go right ahead.**

* * *

_now_

* * *

A single, flickering torch lit the room Artyom currently called home. His swift, practised movements sent shadows dancing along the stone wall behind him as he strapped on his meagre protective gear. His eyes watched his own silhouette as it mimicked his every move, a dark and mighty giant preparing for war against an unknowable foe. He chuckled at the irony, and at his own short stature, a result of both the beastkin blood in his veins and a streak of malnourishment that had continued unbroken since early childhood.

He reached down to his hip with barely-gauntleted arms and checked the shortsword scabbard strapped tightly to his thigh. It was secure enough for his purposes, and when he jiggled the sword in its sheath, simulating vigorous motion, it made no sound thanks to the cloth wrapped strategically around the hilt and base of the blade. He checked his leather armor, and was satisfied that it would hold together for at least one more day.

The last thing he picked up was his small shield, a buckler, somewhat out-of-place amongst the rest of his outfit in that it wasn't designed for stealth in the slightest; it was a copper alloy, designed to conduct electricity with as much efficiency as he could afford. Its outer surface was scorched and blackened in countless spots, and its front and bottom edges had deep rents and dents from excessive application of force. It hadn't gleamed in the sun in years, and the shape was deformed enough that it didn't ring out very loudly when it struck a hard surface. Despite its obvious wear, it was the most useful defensive item in Artyom's arsenal. He was quick of eye and arm, and the thick copper would deflect a sword or crossbow bolt as easily as anything else.

He double-checked everything, slipped a too-large cloak over his shoulders to hide his equipment, and extinguished the torch before walking out into the old temple hallway. The inner corridors were a labyrinth of traps and secret passages; when they first decided to make a hideout here, Artyom had made certain to chart out a safe path between his room and the secret entrance they would use to move in and out. He moved swiftly along the path by memory alone, and stopped just before the switch that would reveal the exit.

The light in the room right next to the switch was lit. So its occupant was already awake... or still had yet to go to sleep. Artyom grimaced at the harsh smell of alcohol that emanated from the room; it was stronger than the usual, dull odor of spilled liquor.

_He said he'd stop drinking. He said he meant it this time,_ thought Artyom. _But he said that every other time, too. _He wasn't surprised. But he was disappointed.

Leaning in and trying not to breathe too much, he saw the room's sole occupant – Artyom's only traveling companion – huddled in blankets, resting against the wall. His eyes were shut, but he was moving enough that Artyom was sure he was awake.

"Hey, Matthew?" he called out to the bundled, drunken wretch. "You alive, old man? Wake up."

The other man opened one eye lazily and groaned. "Huh? Hwah...? What's up, Artie?"

Artyom nodded toward the open bottle on the ground. It was three-quarters empty, but he was impressed to see that it had yet to be knocked over by Matthew's carelessness.

"Rough night?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Need me to pick up some painkillers on my run?"

Matthew opened his other eye slowly and followed Artyom's gaze to the open bottle. "Oh, I..." he mumbled. "Sorry. I just... y'know how it is."

"I really don't," shot the younger man back. "Otherwise, I'd probably be drinking too. Instead, I'm out there doing something about our problems, while your aging ass is probably leaving an imprint on the stone floor by now."

"'M not old..." muttered Matthew. He shifted and stretched, only to extend his leg too far and knock over the bottle. "Fuck," he said. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. You're the one who's gotta clean it up," said Artyom. "I'm heading out. I'll be back later with food. I was joking about the painkillers, but if you need a pick-me-up I think we've still got some medicinal herbs left."

Matthew seemed to consider this for a moment. Or perhaps he was just collecting his thoughts. Either way, he then glanced up at Artyom, and apparently noticed for the first time that he was kitted out for combat. Matthew rolled over in a series of short, jerky moves, and started to pick himself up off the ground.

"Hold up," he said. "I'm coming too. 'S just... wrong, you know? You keep going out alone, and you're... what, sixteen?"

"Eighteen."

"Fuck, really? Sorry, I'm pretty out of it-"

"You're staying here," countered Artyom. "You're drunk, hungover, sleep deprived, or some combination of the three. You'll be more of a burden than anything else. Just stay here, clean yourself up or something, and don't get us both killed." _How'd you let yourself fall this far?_ he wanted to ask. But it was an unspoken rule between them. Matthew had reasons to drink, and he'd done enough to earn his privacy. All Artyom had to do was tolerate it.

That was difficult sometimes.

He hovered his hand over the switch. He'd need to hit it, get out, and close it again to minimize the chance that anyone spotted it. "Last chance," he said. "Any requests?"

Matthew gave up trying to stand, and let himself flop on the floor. He turned one eye upward to look at Artyom, then slowly glanced at the fallen bottle. He seemed to be thinking very hard.

"No," he finally said. "Nothing."

Artyom smiled sadly. _At least he's trying_. "Right," said Artyom doubtfully. He'd pick up something nice, if he could find any - the Empyror was cracking down more and more on the traditional vices lately, which meant Artyom might have to steal whatever he needed – and when Matthew inevitably changed his mind, he'd find a gift waiting for him in the daily batch of looted supplies.

With as warm a nod as he could manage, Artyom turned away. But just before he hit the switch to leave, he heard an echo of conversation in his left ear. His right ear – the deaf one – was pointed toward the room.

"Sorry, Matthew, did you say something?" asked Artyom.

"I said, 'I love you. Stay safe.'"

"Great. See you later."

He slapped the switch and stepped outside before he had to exchange any more awkward words with his father.

He shut the door behind him, let his eyes adjust to the sudden daylight, and then Prince Artyom – of what was once the nation of Morgal – went out to steal food, hunt Tuaparang, and generally make a mess of things as best he could.

* * *

_then_

* * *

"Let the man speak," declared King Amiti of Ayuthay. "If he planned to attack, he would have done so by now."

The Tuaparang "ambassador," such as the word could be used, grinned broadly. He lacked the imposing air of politics that international envoys usually possessed; this man instead wielded the calm, implacable confidence of a religious zealot. The four soldiers he brought as an honor guard likely did little to harm matters, too.

If it came to blows, of course, Amiti would stop them before a shot could be fired. He knew how to deal with Tuaparang warriors, and he would never put his people at risk.

"I come bearing a message from His Holiness, the High Empyror of Tuaparang," drawled the envoy. "He says He is willing to forgive you for your past transgressions against our people."

Amiti waited for the man to continue. When he failed to, Amiti just shrugged.

"I don't recall asking for his forgiveness," said the king. "In fact, I think he's the one who owes Weyard an apology. Remember the Grave Eclipse?" Amiti noticed several of his subjects shuddering visibly at the reference to the tragedy, only a few months past. "I do. Let him know that if he tries anything like that again, we'll stop it, just like last time, and he'll be next."

The emissary's grin slowly shifted to become an angry frown.

"The Eclipse was but a demonstration," he hissed, "of His Highness's divine might. He has access to power beyond your wildest dreams. I am not here to trade messages, I am here to deliver an ultimatum. You, King Amiti, are to bend your nation's knee to the Empire of Tuaparang. If you do not, you will be destroyed. It is not a threat. It is a promise."

"It's a bluff," said Amiti without missing a beat. "The Empyror saw that his mad scheme failed. All he can do now is try to intimidate the free people of the world and hope they listen."

"I will not listen to this heresy-!"

Amiti stood abruptly. "And I will not listen to you threaten my people like a schoolyard bully! If your so-called 'Empyror' really had as much power as you claim, he'd have used it instead of sending you to beg."

The ambassador pursed his lips. "Then I take it you refuse to submit?"

"I'm not selling my people into slavery based on a mad fool's empty threats."

The ambassador's expression did not change. "You have one year to change your mind. If you do not, you will be destroyed. That is the ultimatum. Good day."

Without further ado, the Tuaparang envoy and his honor guard took their leave. Amiti was glad to see them go.

The next several days saw him receive reports that similar ambassadors had arrived at the capitals of nearly every major nation in the world. Amiti felt great pride when he heard that not one of his friends – the ones who led their own nations, of course – had given the threat any credence. And while he still felt certain that the move was a bluff, he knew that any move the Empyror made could be stopped. An anti-Tuaparang coalition would include nearly all of Angara's greatest nations: Ayuthay, Kalay, Passaj, Morgal, Champa, Yamata and Sana. It would also include all of the Warriors of Vale, not to mention their children, each of whom had vast experience fighting the Tuaparang Empire.

Weyard would be ready.

* * *

_now_

* * *

Artyom cursed under his breath when he spotted the small force of Tuaparang soldiers sitting outside the main entrance of the temple that his hideout sat within. They hadn't spotted him, of course; they didn't know about the secret exit he made a habit of using, and while they were supposed to be alert and aware, stakeout duty would have been incredibly boring. Of the eight soldiers there, five were playing cards, two were chatting loudly, and one appeared to be napping.

But the presence of a stakeout force at all meant that it might be time to close up shop soon. There weren't many places to hide in Harapa, and it was lucky for Artyom that his father had found the temple's secret passages all those years ago when he was still useful. It served as a mostly-safe staging ground from which to plan their rebellion and survival efforts, but it never took too long before the Tuas figured out where the attacks where coming from. One of these days, one of the soldiers or investigators would get lucky and find the secret passages.

Artyom intended to grab Matthew and be long gone before that happened. But they likely still had some time. He scratched "alcohol" off his mental grocery list, knowing that he'd need his old man to be sober for them to sneak out of the city and find their next hideaway.

Using the sound of the soldiers' conversation to mask his movement, he scurried beneath the bridge, sticking to cover whenever possible. Eight soldiers was too many. He knew he could take them if he planned carefully, either by drawing some of them away or taking maximum advantage of the element of surprise, but it would be risky. He probably wouldn't get out without injuries. And most importantly, if an eight-man squad of soldiers vanished outside the temple entrance, they'd know for sure where Artyom's hideout was located. He didn't want to bring any more heat down on himself than he had to.

The route he took was a winding one. The entire path was stone, which meant he left no tracks. It was surrounded by rocks for most of its length, too, which kept him hidden, and it had just enough openings for him to keep an eye out for people who might spot him. The path terminated against Harapa's outer walls, and he hopped up and across to a nearby rooftop. The building below him was a tavern with a rarely-used attic: a hiding place he had made good use of on more than one occasion before heading back to the hideout. But no one had spotted him yet, and he had no business in the tavern.

He hopped across several more rooftops, occasionally using what little Psynergy talent he possessed to carry himself a little further on the wind. When he made his trips into town, he always avoided using the same route twice; despite that, the ever-present pile of boxes next to the marketplace was too convenient to ignore. He peeked over the edge of the roof to make sure there were no witnesses, climbed down to the road below, and slipped his hood over his ears, hoping as always that his beastman features wouldn't be too obvious to passerby.

The Tuaparang obviously didn't provide Artyom or his father with food stamps, which made it impossible to get any provisions legally. It pained him to steal from an already-oppressed people. But he knew which shopkeepers were Tuaparang sympathizers, and he tried to limit his thefts to their stalls whenever possible. One such stall was mere minutes from where he stood, and he hadn't hit this particular store lately, which made it somewhat less likely that he'd be expected. He adjusted his cloak and perfected his posture – eyes down, shoulders straight, so he would attract no attention and meet no eyes – and joined the stream of people heading to the market to collect what food they could to feed their families.

Too late he noticed the man on the other side of the street, who was standing far too casually to truly be idle. The man's expression changed subtly as Artyom left the alleyway, and he looked away quickly, keeping up his bored-citizen act. But as Artyom moved away, he glanced back and saw the man walking quickly in the opposite direction. An informant, probably sent by Tuaparang to watch the alleyway.

Artyom cursed and quickened his pace. He needed food, but he couldn't stand around for long. He didn't make a beeline for the stall he'd selected as his target – that would be far too obvious – but he drifted in that direction as soon as it was safe to. The crowd around his mark was just perfect – thin enough to move through easily, but thick enough to remain in unnoticed. He stepped in behind a frail-looking woman and selected some pre-cooked meat, a stale loaf of bread, and a pinch of salt, placing them in a bag and moving to the lineup as if to purchase them.

Just before he reached the store owner himself, collecting peoples' food stamps with a smile and wishing them on their way, Artyom reached over to a tough-looking man nearby and swatted him hard on his far shoulder. The man jumped in surprise and glared at the innocent man next to him.

"Hey!" shouted the brute at Artyom's patsy. "What'd yeh do that for?!"

The patsy shrugged. "I didn't do anything," he said honestly.

"Yeah yeh did! Yeh hit me on me arm, right here!" shouted the big man. He indicated his enormous tricep, flexing it for emphasis. "You tryin' to pick a fight, huh?"

The store owner rushed over and stepped between them, hoping to mediate before all hell broke loose.

Artyom smiled and slipped out of the lineup, bag of food still in his hand. He pulled his cloak over it to conceal the bundle and rejoined the crowd.

That was when he felt a pair of steel-clad hands clasp his shoulders.

He tensed up. _Shit,_ he thought. _Was I too obvious, or are these the guys the informant called?_

Turning slowly, making no sudden movements, he looked behind, and sure enough, two armed Tuaparang enforcers were staring him down, each grasping one of his shoulders tightly enough that he couldn't escape without doing something about them.

"Afternoon, gentlemen," he said carefully. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Sir, we'd like you to come with us," said the soldier grasping Artyom's left shoulder. "We have some questions for you pertaining to certain anti-imperial activities taking place within the city walls." _Ah, it was the informant, then._ "Good behavior will be noted on your record. Will you come quietly?"

"Of course," replied Artyom without hesitation. "I have nothing to hide, and I assure you I'm not the man you're looking for, but I'll co-operate fully with your investigation."

The soldier on Artyom's right sneered at him. He leaned in close, and Artyom quickly angled his head in the other direction... more because of the man's halitosis than anything else. But then Artyom realized the man had begun to speak, and with his right ear deaf, he had to turn his head - and his nose - toward the speaker. He cringed.

"...at's bullshit and you know it, beastie," whispered the foul-smelling soldier once Artyom was able to hear. "You've finally slipped up, and we're dropping the hammer on you and your little group. The best thing you can do right now is tell us everything you know, and maybe we'll go easy on you."

_Group?_ thought Artyom. _They assume it's more than just me._ Regardless, they knew who he was, and now these two knew what he looked like. He had to get them out of sight. No witnesses. "Look, sir, I don't want to cause a scene," he said. "Let's get out of this crowd, and we can speak on this somewhere no one will be listening in."

"Nice try," said the man on the left. "Put your hands in the air where I can see them-"

"No, seriously, look around us!" protested Artyom. "You really want all these people to hear about resistance activities? It could cause a panic. Or worse, some of them might try to join up."

The guards hesitated. Lefty – probably the captain – pointed toward a nearby alleyway and shoved Artyom toward it. Righty maintained his grasp on Artyom's shoulder, throwing off his balance and nearly knocking him to the ground. As it was, he barely held onto his bag of stolen goods, and when he threw out his arm to balance himself, the bag came into plain sight.

"Hold on now," said Righty. "What's this?"

Lefty seized it before Artyom could respond. Opening the bag, the man grinned. "My, my! Looks like our boy's a thief, too!" He nodded at his subordinate. "Guess we've actually got a good reason to bring him in now, don't we? The interrogation's just icing."

Artyom shook his head. "You don't wanna do that."

Lefty frowned. "Why not?"

"Because Tuaparang armor tends to conduct electricity very, very well."

He turned sharply to his left, breaking the hold of the bad-smelling man on his right. In the same motion, he swung both hands toward the man on the left. Artyom's right hand, empty, grabbed the bag below where the man's hands gripped it. His left hand, carrying the scorched copper shield, swung toward the man's chest.

Just before impact, Artyom poured as much psynergy as he could into the shield, and electricity arced across it like his own pet thunderhead. The shield's surface made contact with the soldier's chestplate.

The electric charge poured into the chestplate, and then into the man behind it.

He was electrocuted, though Artyom didn't have time to see if it was fatal or not. This was because in the same instant, the shield and the chestplate repelled each other fiercely. The man's body shot backward like a cannonball, and while the exact same amount of force pushed against Artyom's shield, he had known it was coming and braced himself against it.

It still knocked him about a foot backward, but he managed to keep himself from falling over, and while the remaining soldier stared in awe at the display, Artyom dropped his food bag, drew his sword, and slashed.

The man dropped. Someone screamed.

Artyom flicked the blood off his sword and sheathed it quickly, bending to retrieve his stolen goods before bolting in the least-crowded direction he could identify. His hood fell off his head, revealing his long, pointed ears, messy lavender hair, and extended snout for the world to see. His cover was blown – as if it hadn't been already when he electrocuted a member of the city guard in broad daylight – but he took solace in the fact that he'd been planning to leave the city shortly anyway.

He needed to get back up to the city walls and head for the temple, but first he needed to make sure he wouldn't be followed. So he took a bizarre, aimless route, one that took him around plenty of corners and through streets full of people too busy panicking to spot the fleeing beastman among them. When his instincts told him he was safe, that he wasn't being followed, he scaled the nearest wall and kept low, using the roofs to hide his movements. From here, it would be child's play to head home and prepare a simple dinner for two.

But when he reached the top and looked around to get his bearings, he noticed something odd about two blocks down the nearby street.

It was a small group, walking in formation. They stood out like a sore thumb among the terrified populace. The four standing on the outside of the formation were Tuaparang soldiers – elite military men, from the way they carried themselves, not the run-of-the-mill enlisted troops who kept order in the streets.

The one in the middle was a beastgirl. She was unarmed, and she looked quite forlorn.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on.

She was also the first beastkin he had seen since the fall of Belinsk.

He checked his food bag. It was a little small, but he supposed he could afford to go a little hungry tonight.

"Make that dinner for three," he muttered to himself, watching the girl's escort move slowly along the streets, waiting for an opportunity to free her from her captors.

* * *

_then_

* * *

Sveta sat with her back to her bedroom door. As ever, she maintained a cool, calm exterior. But inside, her heart pounded against her ribs like a horse against the walls of a burning barn. There had to be another way. Or she could take the risk and hope for the best, like Amiti seemed to be doing. Yet she knew that to be wrong, for if anything happened to her, her people would-

Her bedroom door opened. She did not turn to look. She merely rested her arms gently and protectively across her chest.

"Oh, uh...!" stammered Matthew from the doorway. "Shi- I mean, shoot. I should have knocked. I'll just, uh..." And the door began to squeak shut.

Sveta took in a breath. All she had to do was say, _Yes, thank you, please wait a moment while I put a shirt on._ Or she could even say nothing at all.

"Wait," she said instead.

The door stopped closing.

She hesitated before continuing. She had called Matthew for a reason, just as she had planned out the scene to set the tone – she wanted him to see her from behind, bare to the waist yet still dignified, with nothing but the light of the moon for illumination. Now she was regretting it, but the rational part of her was arguing that it was nothing more than last-minute anxiety. She had a duty to fulfill, and she needed his help... terrified though she may have been by the implications.

"Please come in," she said. "Lock the door behind you."

There was a pause, and then she heard the door close and lock with a _click_. "You sure you don't want me to wait, like, five minutes?" asked Matthew awkwardly. "Or I could turn around while we talk or something..."

Again, her rational side fought against her anxiety. This was deliberate. He needed to see her like this. It was symbolic, for one, of her revealing her intimate vulnerabilities to him. It might also influence his decision-making, increasing the chance that he would comply with her requests. If all went as planned, it would expedite matters, too.

The rest of her, the non-rational part of her mind, was screaming _oh Gods I'm naked from the waist up and I can feel him staring._

It was lucky for her that her years of preparation for the throne had trained her rational side to be so powerful.

"Thank you for coming, Matthew," she said softly, yet urgently. "I have three favors to ask of you. I must warn you, they each require significant amounts of responsibility, and I would have you know that you are under no obligation to accept. If you decline any or all of them, our friendship will remain intact." _If you accept, that will be quite a different story._ "I will be able to find someone else if need be, but... you are the preferred candidate, shall we say."

"I, umm..." Matthew swallowed loud enough for Sveta to hear from where she sat. She heard a shuffling sound, and when he continued speaking, she could tell he was speaking in the direction of the wall. "Right. Difficulty focusing aside... does this have anything to do with the Tuaparang thing?"

Sveta nodded an instant before she realized he wouldn't be able to see her do so. "It does, but likely not in the way you think. Before we continue, the first favor I ask is that nothing we say or do leaves this room. Again, feel free to say no, but I cannot even ask you the other two favors unless you can guarantee that you will tell no one I asked."

"Of course," said Matthew. "If it's something as important as this seems to be, I would never violate your trust like that. You know I wouldn't."

She nodded again. "I do. I suppose that is a large part of the reason I asked you to come in the first place..."

How could she take advantage of such an honest soul? She was using him. And this... it could ruin him. It could ruin them both, but she was more than willing to sacrifice herself if it was for the good of her people. Matthew was not even of Morgal. How could she ask the same of him?

"Sveta?" asked Matthew after several seconds of silence. "Is everything alright?"

His voice snapped her out of it. She shook her head to clear it, and took a breath to calm her nerves. "Yes. Yes, sorry, this is about the Tuaparang ultimatum. I am of a similar position to Amiti and the others. I suspect it to be a bluff. Their deadline will likely come and go with no real effect. But I have seen what the Tuaparang are capable of, as have you, and as Queen, it is my duty to take all threats seriously."

Matthew paused before replying. "You think they might actually be able to do it," he said. "You think they might kill you for refusing to surrender your nation."

Sveta nodded, and squeezed her arms more tightly around herself. "I do not want to die," she whispered.

"You won't," said Matthew firmly. "I promise. Whether they've got a trick up their sleeves or not, the others and I are going to put a stop to whatever they're up to."

His concern warmed her heart, and relieved some of her anxiety about what she had to do next. But it still felt wrong. It felt like blackmail.

"Being Queen," she said carefully, "means taking steps to ensure that my people will be safe, even in the worst-case scenario. I trust you, and I believe in you. But I cannot stand to sit by and hope. If I am to... die... before the year is out, then I need to make sure my people are not without a leader."

"...Sveta," said Matthew, obviously having figured out what was going on. "What's your second favor?"

She licked her lips nervously. "You agree, again, that no part of this conversation is to be repeated?"

"I do. Sveta, what are you asking me to do for you?"

She didn't answer. _Last chance to back out. Last chance to change your mind._

She refused to take her last chance.

"Marry me," she said.

Matthew swallowed again. "Hmm," he said in a way that made it clear he was both trying and failing to keep his emotions in check.

_This was a mistake,_ she thought. She spoke quickly to complete her request and just get it over with. "It would make you next in line for the throne. If the Tuaparang succeed in taking my life, then my people can look to you for leadership. I apologize, this was far too sudden. Again, you are under no obligation-"

"I'll... I'll do it."

"What?" _Really?_

"I know you pretty well, Sveta," said Matthew, his voice audibly shaky despite the certainty in his tone. "You wouldn't have even asked that without giving it a ton of thought. You obviously think it's the best decision, both for you and for your country. Even with all the risks, and the... well, everything. It's sudden, yeah, but if you're willing to do something so drastic, then that obviously means you're serious. As your friend, it would be irresponsible of me to turn you down."

"Huh," said Sveta. "I... okay." Her heart pounded even harder than before, and she had to focus to keep herself from hyperventilating. Her emotions were a complete mess. She could barely identify what she was feeling. Fear, trepidation, yes. Relief, maybe. Gratitude, perhaps. But there was more than that, and she couldn't sort through it all without wasting precious time.

"Is that alright?" asked Matthew. "You sound... disappointed."

"What? No!" shouted Sveta. "This is not disappointment. Far from it. Thank you. I just... this is a lot. This is far, far more than I have ever asked of anyone, and it is shockingly inappropriate of me to even suggest it. The fact that you would agree so readily..."

Matthew laughed nervously. "Like I said, it seemed important to you. And... I guess if I think about it, I wouldn't really mind marrying you, particularly."

_Oh, Gods._ She couldn't form a coherent response.

"I know it seems silly," continued Matthew, "but if I had to pick right now – and I apparently do – you'd definitely be on the list of people I could stand to be with. You're a great girl. We never dated, and... I mean, I don't think we had anything going. Not officially. But I'd have been willing to give it a try."

Sveta wanted to say something. If she could think of something that made sense, if she could even figure out how she felt about all this... but she couldn't. Instead, she just said the first thing that came to her mind.

"I do not want to die," she whispered again. _I have so much to live for._

She realized she was crying. Her own soft sobs gave life to the ensuing silence. She adjusted her arms in hopes of covering herself further. She felt so vulnerable.

She heard a shuffling of feet again. "Sveta," asked Matthew, "may I sit down?"

Turning to look at him, she saw an expression of pure concern. She slowly nodded, then shifted aside for him to take a seat next to her.

He sat. She covered herself even more, blushing red-hot.

Then he put his arm around her. She gave up trying to sort out her emotions, right then; it was a lost cause.

Meeting her eyes, he spoke. "I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe. You're important to me, as a friend and as a teammate." He glanced away quickly, adding, "Also, I guess as a fiancée now. That's going to take some getting used to."

Her tears came harder. "I am so, so sorry, I should never have-"

"Don't be," interrupted Matthew. "I'm not. Actually, I'm kind of looking forward to it, in a way. Sounds like... a new adventure. What do you think?"

She met his eyes once more. A smile forced its way onto her face. _What do I think? Good question. Very good question. I have no idea what I think._ So instead of thinking, she just let her mouth run.

"I think that is a remarkably corny way of describing it, and perhaps also very cliché. At the same time, it is also typical of your personality to respond in such a way, and I suppose that makes me feel comforted. It is familiar in a way that I suspect I would be happy being more comfortable with, if that makes sense. But I suspect too that it does not, and your close proximity makes me look back on our past adventure and wonder if perhaps I had a slight crush on you at the time, though that is likely hindsight bias, or at least a need to reshape my memories to suit my current situation, and _oh Gods I am still topless, why did I ever think this would be a good idea-_"

He kissed her.

When he stopped, she realized she was holding his hand. She prevented herself from thinking about what that implied.

"Everything's gonna be fine," he said. "You'll see."

She nodded.

Resting her head gently on his shoulder, she made herself relax. It was all nothing to worry about. It would be a change, yes, but Matthew could help her through it, and vice versa. She chose well. That thought gave her courage more than any other.

But it wasn't over, and she knew it before her fiancée even began to speak.

"My one concern," he said, "is that I don't know if your people would be terribly happy with a non-beastman leader. If I had to take the throne, I mean."

Sveta pulled away, retreating to the refuge of her memorized speech.

"The third favor," she said in explanation.

He thought about this for a few seconds. Then his eyes widened.

"You don't mean...?" he asked. "Oh, shit."

"Having a non-beastman leader for too long would make a lot of my people unhappy," she continued, ignoring him. "It would remind them too much of Sanan occupation. If you are merely in line for the throne, there should be no issue, and if your rule is temporary, that should alleviate the problem. But the truth is, I need an heir of royal blood."

Matthew covered his mouth and stared blankly into space.

"Pregnancy takes nine months, and I would like to allow for one extra month in case of complications. My third favor that I ask of you, Matthew, is that you conceive a child with me some time over the next two months so that an heir is born by the time the Tuaparang deadline is reached."

"Oh, holy _shit,_" said Matthew.

"...Sooner is better than later," added Sveta numbly to finish her speech. She found her voice again for just long enough to add "N-no obligation."

There was a long and painful silence, deep enough that Sveta's inner terror reawakened. _I went too far,_ she thought. _I ruined everything. I seem crazy, and unattractive, and he will change his mind about marriage._

She sat, one arm covering her nudity, the other still clutching Matthew's hand. Matthew's other hand was on his knee, clenching and unclenching as his mind worked to process her request.

"You're serious about this," he muttered. "Wow. That's... wow."

She nodded.

"...We can forget I said it," Sveta offered. "Pretend I never suggested it."

But Matthew shook his head. "Look, you put a lot of thought into this, and even though you were obviously pretty nervous about asking, you did it anyway, because you decided it was the right thing to do. Have you changed your mind?"

"I have no idea," said Sveta. "Yes. No. I have changed my mind about why but not about how." She blushed. "Forget I said that, please."

"What, the third favor?"

"No, the... nevermind." She took her hand away and smoothed out her pants nervously. "I still believe that an heir of royal blood is necessary to this plan's success. If the Tuaparang are not bluffing – if I am not to survive – then it means my people will have the king or queen they desire eventually. If they are bluffing, however, then I fear I will have stolen your innocence, or something similar, without good reason. The decision is yours, and I will not be offended if you say no."

"...But if I said yes, you'd go through with it?"

She didn't meet his eyes, but nodded without a moment of hesitation.

Matthew laughed weakly. "I didn't think I'd end up being a father until I was, like, in my twenties or thirties..."

"Honestly, I gave very little thought to motherhood," agreed Sveta. "Unfortunately, reality is often less-than-kind to me. I need a son or daughter before the year is out. I would like the child to be yours. In planning, it was because I trust you to be a reliable and caring parent."

"And now?" prompted Matthew.

Sveta stared into his eyes and squeezed his hand. "Now," she said, "I suspect I could grow to love you."

Matthew smiled. "That's good. Our kids deserve to grow up in a home with loving parents."

"...You accept?" said Sveta.

Matthew nodded.

Sveta brought her hand up to rest on his cheek. There was stubble there, but not much. It had been wrong of her to force the decision this early. But perhaps... perhaps it was the right plan, only a little ahead of schedule.

She noticed him glance down for an instant. She realized that one hand was holding his, and the other was on his cheek. She realized that that meant there was nothing covering her nudity.

She realized that she no longer cared.

"Two months isn't a lot of time," said Matthew, his voice cracking.

"We should really get to work," agreed Sveta.

They watched each other in silence, breathing shallowly, their hearts pounding as one, but neither daring to make the first move.

Then, without warning, the tension broke and they collapsed on each other like waves against a beach.

* * *

_AUTHOR'S NOTES:_

_This was supposed to be a single short story. Looks like it's going to be a little bigger than that, but I have the story planned out already and it fits easily into a three-act format. So, three chapters probably._

_For those confused: the "then" segments take place about 31 years after the Golden Sun (ie a year or so after Dark Dawn), and the "now" segments take place about 50 years after the Golden Sun. All should become clear in time._

_And of course, this story is completely unrelated to Drops of Jupiter._


	2. Chapter 2

**Golden Sun belongs to Nintendo and Camelot, not me. Support them if you like the series! I just write fanstuff. And if you feel like borrowing any of my original ideas, please, go right ahead.**

* * *

_now_

* * *

The panic in the streets ceased to matter. Even getting home safely got knocked down to second priority. Artyom kept low atop the roof, watching the girl's captors carefully. He spotted a few places up ahead where he could ambush them, either to wipe out the guards or distract them long enough for the girl to escape.

She had golden fur. Artyom had never seen that before, not that he could remember anyway, but he knew exactly what it meant. She'd been born before the Grave Eclipse, and was bathed in the alchemical energy after its end – she was a Light Adept, likely one of very few remaining in the world. From the looks of it, she couldn't have been that much older than him; her fur meant she was at least two years his senior, but he'd be shocked to find the difference was much greater.

She also had a small mark of some kind below her eye – a tattoo, perhaps. He couldn't identify its exact shape from that distance.

Her guards were definitely keeping their eyes open, but their attention was directed outward. Either she wasn't as much of a threat as Artyom would expect a Light Adept to be, or they'd found some way to keep her docile. Regardless, it meant a rescue attempt would be all on him – no support from the captive, most likely.

The convoy suddenly took a sharp turn to their left – the direction away from Artyom – and began to head down a sidestreet, one that would take them swiftly toward the marketplace where all this chaos had begun. Artyom cursed. He could get down to the ground and cross the street easily enough, but attacking from above would be his best bet, and he didn't have time to find another route to the rooftops. And the street was too wide to jump across.

Was it?

He gritted his teeth. He could use Psynergy to extend his leaps, but he'd never tried pushing himself this far. Still, it was worth a try. What was the worst that could happen? Other than fatal injuries from the fall, of course.

_They're getting out of sight. Now or never._

He sprinted toward the edge of the rooftop, pushed off with all his might, and reached within himself to summon as much wind as he could.

He saw the far rooftop rush toward him.

Then he began to fall.

_Aww, sh-_

He crashed through the upper-floor window. Somehow he managed to pull into a roll and maintain his forward momentum, recovering quickly and getting back to a full run. He saw another window on the other side of the room, this one facing the alleyway the girl was being taken through. Ignoring the pain from the glass shards in his skin, he steeled himself for another go.

He felt someone below summoning their psynergy – a lot of it, too. The girl? He didn't have much time.

He threw open the next window and jumped out.

Mid-fall, he took stock of everything around him. There was a guard directly beneath, whom Artyom could direct the force of his fall onto. Afterward, he could go for the guard at his three o'clock, on his deaf side; it would mean securing the safest possible position for himself after the fight.

Before he got any further, he locked eyes with the girl.

Her eyes widened as they gazed into his.

He felt her psynergy dissipate.

Artyom could see the tattoo beneath her right eye clearly from this distance. It was a little heart. Very cute.

He smirked and winked at her.

Then he felt his feet strike the guard below. One down, three to go.

He charged his shield with electricity again, turning and sending it straight toward the man on his right in a quick jab. The edge of the shield made contact, and the energy discharged, just as it had with the guard in the marketplace. The effect wasn't as dramatic this time, but this soldier crumpled just the same, his armor smoking from the electric shock.

With two down, Artyom drew his sword and struck the guard directly in front. He stabbed up and sideways underneath the man's left armpit, and swatted out with his shield again to knock his opponent away. The shield strike would daze him, the stab-wound would cause him to bleed out before he could fully recover.

One left, and he was on the opposite side of the girl. Artyom gave her a glance – she was still watching him, stunned – and then he dodged around her, bringing his shield up to block any potential counterattacks from the one remaining guard.

"Get behind me!" he shouted at her.

The guard fired his autocrossbow. Artyom shifted his shield to block the bolts.

"What? Why-!" cried the girl. "_Who are you?!_"

"Your rescuer, hopefully," answered Artyom. He charged his shield one last time, swinging it out to discharge against the last soldier's steel autocrossbow. An arc of plasma flashed across the shield's surface just before it made contact, and the crossbow flashed to red-hot in an instant, forcing the guard to drop it before his hands were burned.

Artyom finished the fight by stabbing the now-unarmed soldier in the throat.

He wiped his sword quickly on the inside of his cloak, then sheathed it. "Come on!" he said to the girl, gesturing for her to follow before heading in his hideout's general direction.

She didn't move. "Who are you?" she asked again. "You should know I'm a powerful Adept. Give me one good reason not to torch you."

Artyom rolled his eyes. "Well, aside from the fact that I just saved you from interrogation, imprisonment, or worse..."

The girl frowned. "...You think they were going to..." She cut herself off, and her eyes flashed in realization. "You're with the resistance!"

"Well, obviously," said Artyom. "I was just headed back when I spotted you, actually. Wanna join?"

She blinked twice in surprise. "I, umm..."

"I'm Artyom," he said, extending his hand rather than waiting for her to respond. "Come with me, you can think about it on the way. The longer we wait, the more likely it is we'll get caught again."

The girl hesitated, then shook his hand. "Annah," she said. "My name is Annah." She cast one mournful look at her former captors. "I know you had good intentions, but please don't kill any more."

"Huh? Why do you care?"

"They were just doing their jobs. They did nothing wrong to you."

Artyom's eye twitched. "Okay, first we're heading back to the hideout. Then, we're having a long discussion about the definition of the word 'wrong.'"

Annah gave a slight bow. "Lead on," she said.

She was in excellent shape, and had no trouble following him along his rooftop escape route. Luckily for both of them, they encountered no more guards on the way. Artyom wanted to trust her, but this early in the friendship, he would have had no trouble risking her loyalty in favor of safety.

* * *

_then_

* * *

"...but seriously, peanut butter and _eggs?_ How'd you even manage to finish that?"

"I had a craving! It tasted odd, surely, but I really, really wanted it. Next time, could you perhaps burn the eggs more?"

"I can't tell if that's sarcasm."

"I am never sarcastic," said Sveta, setting a gentle pace as she strode down the castle halls with her husband. "It would be an experiment. That was actually what I craved; burnt eggs with peanut butter. If it comes up again, I will let you know."

Matthew grinned. "I appreciate all this constructive feedback."

And Sveta stuck out her tongue at him. "While I appreciate that you volunteer to make these odd meals yourself, I do _not_ appreciate you mocking me for them." Then she smiled and held her head high. "Besides, it is not truly for me. It is for our son. He is rather demanding."

Matthew felt a rush of euphoria at her words, and couldn't help but glance at her several-months-along baby bump. He was going to be a father. He figured that the thought should have filled him with terror, or at least anxiety. But all he felt was confidence, anticipation. Sveta would be there too, and together, they could accomplish whatever the world threw at them.

"You keep referring to it as a 'he,'" he said. "Do you know something I don't?"

Sveta shrugged. "I know we will have a son," she said innocently.

"...Have you been reading his mind or something?"

"Of course!" she replied. "But he has no understanding of the concept of gender. His mind is very serene, aside from his frequent requests for things like peanut butter and burnt eggs."

"So he doesn't know what gender is, but he knows that he wants weird food." Matthew nodded. "I think I've asked enough questions for one day."

"Good. My turn, then." Sveta folded her arms atop her belly – thoughtfully, not confrontationally – and said, "I have been thinking of names for our son. What about something like... Dmitri? Or perhaps Pyotr?"

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "Still not sure how you can be so certain it's a boy. What if we have a daughter?"

"Then I suppose she will have a boy's name," answered Sveta, "and historians will be baffled for generations, despite the largely successful reign of Queen Pyotr."

With a peal of laughter, Matthew put his arm around her. "I like the way you think," he said. "Have you given any thought to more... western names, I guess? I've got a few in mind."

Sveta shook her head, but listened intently.

"Well, like, I guess it makes sense for the heir to the throne of Morgal to have a Morgalan name," admitted Matthew, "but what about something... simple? Like, I dunno. Dave. Or Tim."

Sveta sighed. "Queen Dave? Absurd."

"I'm confused. Are we assuming the baby's going to be a girl now?"

"No, but I thought it best to humor you."

Matthew would have come up with a quick retort, but a short distance ahead – just outside their room – stood Chancellor Vasilli, the highest-ranking member of Belinsk's government short of the royal family itself, and a remarkably agreeable man considering his political background.

"I think you've got this baby naming thing buttoned down," said Matthew to Sveta. "We can pick this up again later. For now..." He waved at Vasilli. "Afternoon, Chancellor! What brings you?"

Vasilli gave them the half-bow he reserved for when he met them in private. He was a strong believer in tradition, and never wasted an opportunity to show them proper respect; but at the same time, he was a close friend, and a formal gesture wouldn't do justice to their familiarity.

"Good to see you, Your Majesty, my Queen." He nodded to each of them in turn. "I came to inform you that visitors have arrived in the city, and are requesting an audience."

Sveta nodded. "Who?"

"Isaac and Jenna of Vale, my Queen. They have taken up lodgings at an inn, and have made it clear that there is no urgency to this meeting. They merely wish to pay their respects to the King and Queen of Morgal."

Matthew smiled. He hadn't heard from his parents in ages. When they didn't respond to the letter he sent just before the wedding (and just after the prince's conception), he was worried it meant that they didn't approve.

"I believe our schedule is clear for this evening," answered Sveta, looking to Matthew for confirmation. As king, he was technically equal to her in authority, but she had much more experience in matters of state; it made sense to let her do the talking any time things got official.

When Matthew gave her a nod, Sveta continued. "Yes, we would be happy to meet with them tonight. Send someone to give them a dinner invitation, and let the cooks know that we will have two honored guests dining with us."

Vasilli bowed again, and moved past them to find someone who could carry out the queen's request.

The moment he was gone, Sveta hurried into their bedroom, gesturing for Matthew to follow with an urgent expression.

She immediately started sorting through her wardrobe, laying out a variety of beautiful, yet different, outfits. She clicked her tongue.

"You have something to wear, right?" she asked. "Yes, of course you do. I forgot. You have the outfits we had made for political visits..."

Matthew shrugged. "It's only my parents. I don't see what the big deal is-"

"We must match, at the very least," continued Sveta. "Our outfits should compliment each other, not so much that it looks forced, but enough that we appear natural together. But as for how formal... you know your parents better than I, what do you think?"

"I, uh..." he stammered. "I think-"

"Well, they are both adventurers. They probably respect functionality," interrupted Sveta. "In truth, the outfits we wore to stop the Eclipse would likely be best, but I doubt mine fits me in my current state." She picked up a flowy, pink dress, grimaced, and hung it back up. "At any rate, it is important to strike a balance between showing that I take care of you and avoiding making you look like I dressed you up-"

"Alright, slow down!" shouted Matthew. "Why are you making such a big deal out of this? You've snapped straight into queen-mode. It's just dinner with my parents. No need to overthink it."

Sveta paused, then put down the outfit she'd been examining at that moment. She fixed him with her gaze. "To you, they are just your parents," she said. "You have known them your entire life. You are used to them. For me, as beastkin, they are more than that. The Warriors of Vale caused the Golden Sun event, which in turn created my entire race. Some among us would consider them gods. I do not count myself among them, but the fact remains that I hold them in incredibly high regard, and I refuse to embarrass my people by showing them anything but the utmost respect."

She turned back to the outfit and picked it up, smoothing out some wrinkles. "They are also my in-laws. What do you think of this one, do you have anything that matches it?"

* * *

_now_

* * *

"A secret entrance?" asked Annah. "Remarkable."

Artyom nodded. "I'm shocked it's taken this long for the Tuas to find it, considering how hard they look for it. But you saw them camped outside. We won't be safe here much longer. Make yourself at home, but we're leaving tomorrow morning. Not sure where yet."

He pressed the secret switch, and the stones shifted aside. He stepped away. "Ladies first."

Annah gave a mock-curtsy and ducked inside. She halted a few steps in.

"...Kinda smells like booze," she muttered.

"Usually does, yeah," admitted Artyom, "at least when the old man's involved." He hit the button to close the switch again, then poked his head into the nearby room. "Hey, Matthew! You alive?"

Annah's head snapped toward Artyom. "Matthew?" she asked. "You don't mean _King_ Matthew, do you?"

Artyom looked at her dryly. He shifted back into the room. "Up and at 'em, Your Majesty. We've got a visitor."

The former king did seem to have moved somewhat since Artyom left, but not much. He was still wrapped in a bundle of blankets, but now he was flat on his face in the far corner from his bedroll. He groaned quietly, but didn't speak.

"That can't be comfortable," Artyom mumbled. Then it occurred to him in a flush of embarrassment that they only had the two bedrolls. Where was Annah going to sleep?

As if on cue, she pushed passed him. Her eyes lingered on the fallen king. "I heard he abandoned us," she said. "That he ran away from Belinsk in our hour of need. I guess they were right, to some degree."

"What, forming a resistance doesn't count?" asked Artyom.

Annah turned to him. "How many members do you have?" she asked.

"Including you?"

"No."

"Two."

She frowned. "So, just you and him? That's all?" She looked back at the prone form and clenched her fists. "All this chaos and death... it's just been two people?"

Artyom stepped forward defensively. "Hey, whose side are you on? I just saved you from the Tuaparang. They were gonna take you in, give you an 'interrogation', then leave you to rot in a jail cell, assuming they didn't just execute you outright!"

"I don't know where you get your information from, but even if we pretend that's the case," replied Annah, "they aren't the ones going around and murdering officers of the law in cold blood!"

"I'm fighting to give these people freedom!"

"Tell me, Artyom, how many people have you _personally_ saved?" asked Annah. "Again, don't include me in your count. Because unless you've directly improved someone's quality of life, unless you can prove that your actions are making the world a better place, what you're doing isn't fighting for freedom. It's terrorism."

Artyom glared at her, but couldn't give her an answer.

She gave him a _that's-what-I-thought_ look, and knelt down next to Matthew. He mumbled something incoherent and noncommittal.

"You brought back food, right?" she asked Artyom without looking at him. "Stolen, I assume, though I won't blame you in this case. Luckily, I'm carrying some food of my own. I obtained it legally."

She slipped a hand into a pouch on her waist, and pulled out a napkin. She placed it near Matthew – not close enough that he would roll over and squish it, but that he'd notice it when he woke. Then she reached in again and pulled out a loaf of fresh bread and a small brick of cheese. Artyom thought he saw her other hand move toward a pouch on the other side of her waist for the barest instant, but when he blinked, both her hands were neatly arranging the food on the napkin; he must have been imagining things.

"A gift," she said to the sleeping form. "Consider it payment for all you've done for our people."

She stood. "Where do you sleep?" she asked Artyom.

"A little further in," he said. His voice was still tinted with anger, but after her gift of food for his father, he found it difficult to hold a grudge. "Thanks."

Annah shrugged. "Stolen food is hardly fit for a king, wouldn't you agree?"

Taking a torch from the wall and starting through the dark corridor, Artyom nodded. "Though he hasn't been a true king in quite some time. Now he's... what was the word you used? A terrorist."

"Oh, please," sighed Annah, taking up step behind him. "You have to realize, I'm not faulting your intentions. What I take issue with is your methods, and I think if you really, deeply considered what you want for the free people of the world-"

"Free people? Hah!" His bark of a laugh echoed through the darkness of the temple halls. "Who in the world has been truly free since the High Empyror put himself in charge? Armed guards patrol the streets with itchy trigger fingers. Families wait in line for hours so they can allow their children to stave off starvation just one more day-"

"And mad beastmen prowl the sidestreets, waiting to sate their bloodlust on any poor soul who looks too patriotic," interrupted Annah. "By the way, do you know the recruitment rates among Harapa's city guard? Tuaparang nationals are far from the majority."

"If they side with the Empire, then they're my enemy regardless of where they were born," said Artyom. "That should be obvious. What the hell's your problem? Why are you trying so hard to-"

"So you don't actually want to solve the problem?" asked Annah. "You just want to kill Tuaparang. Again, that doesn't make you a hero, it makes you a psychopath."

"Oh? What do you suggest, handing out flyers? Picking up trash around the city, you know, really cleaning things up?"

Annah rolled her eyes. "Look, I can tell you mean well. I think you actually want to make some change in the world. And I agree, life could be better under the Empyror. The difference between us is that I believe life will get better on its own. The cities are rebuilding themselves, and Tuaparang technology is being distributed to make food production efficient enough to feed everyone. With all the world's nations under one rule, there's no war. In fact, the only violent deaths since the rise of the Empire have been because people like you-"

Artyom spun on her and pressed her to the wall with his left arm, dropping the torch in his right hand to draw the sword at his hip. He barely noticed the glow of the torch on the floor, but he felt Annah's psynergy rise to the surface, so potent that he swore he could see the barest edge of it leaking through her fierce, green eyes.

Neither of them made a move.

"I'm starting to think it was a bad idea to save you," he hissed.

"Honest answer?" she replied. "Yeah. It probably was."

"Give me a reason not to cut you down, right here."

"Funny. I said nearly the exact same thing to you less than an hour ago."

"Yet here we are."

His sword was an inch from her gut. She was dangerous, to be sure. He could feel the energy radiating off of her, and even if he attacked, he wasn't sure he could finish her before she killed him. But she'd bleed out before she could get to help.

If she made the first move, she could get out unscathed. Why was he still alive?

More importantly, if he'd just struck instead of pinning her, she would have ceased to be a threat. What held him back?

He pulled away.

"Dammit," he whispered. He sheathed his sword as he felt her psynergy sink away. "If you hate the resistance so much, why'd you come with me? Are you planning to rat us out?" _Please say no._

She frowned and looked away. "I think we want the same thing," she said, "in more ways than one."

"Explain."

"You want peace," she said. "You want people to be free. To have lives worth living. For you, that means freeing them from the people you see as oppressors. But I think we can live free under the Empyror, someday. All we need to do is work toward that goal, and-"

"Annah, you're the first beastkin I've seen in years, not counting times when I look in the mirror," said Artyom. "There are nearly none of us left. In fact, you and I might be the only two remaining in the whole world. Guess who's to blame?"

At those words, a marked change took over Annah's face. Her psynergy burst forth again, but this time it was barely controlled; if her display before had been a lantern in a barn at night, Artyom now saw that lantern being thrown into a pile of dry hay.

"You're making the same mistake so many others did," she whispered. "You think you know how the world ended. You think you understand what brought about the ruin. But you don't know a thing. Not a fucking THING." She shut her eyes and bared her teeth, letting a low growl escape from her throat. Her powers receded slightly, and she seemed to regain control of herself to some extent. "Just lead the rest of the way to your room. I'll tell you when we get there," she said.

The torch on the ground wasn't burning nearly as brightly as before; it had been weak even before Artyom dropped it, having been used and re-used for weeks at that point. Now the flame was nothing more than dying embers on the scorched stone floor.

Annah kicked it aside. "I'll light the rest of the way, I've got energy to burn," she said before conjuring a small, glowing orb in midair. It shimmered like a speck of sun. "I'm sorry you had to see that. But mark my words: the one to blame for the end of our race is not the Empyror."

She pointed back the way they came. "The man responsible is sleeping just by the entrance, and before long, he'll probably be eating my dinner."

* * *

_then_

* * *

"Hey, could you pass the salt, Dad?" asked Matthew when there was a break in the conversation.

Isaac nodded, his mouth full of food, and carelessly waved his hand, sending the salt shaker grinding across the tabletop. Matthew cringed.

Jenna slapped Isaac's hand. "Manners!" she said. "Honestly, if this is what comes of you living with no one around but other men..."

"Hey, Matthew was there too!" protested Isaac. "And Garet and Tyrell..."

"Really? You're using Garet and Tyrell as an example of good table manners?" asked Matthew. He picked up the salt shaker. "Thank you, by the way. And for the record, while I did need some table-tutoring after I decided to settle down here, I was never _awful._"

Sveta made a slight humming noise.

"What?" asked Matthew.

Sveta shrugged. "No comment."

"Saying 'no comment' is totally a comment."

"Alright," she said. "I amend my statement. You have improved since arriving here."

Jenna laughed. Matthew rolled his eyes, but laughed as well.

"I guess all sorts of things have gotten better since you two got married," said Jenna. "And a child on the way already! Very exciting."

Sveta's face lit up. Matthew nodded along.

"I know you probably weren't expecting to become grandparents for another while yet," he said. "I was actually really worried about how you'd react to it. I'll admit, it was a bit sudden."

"Hey, we aren't the ones who matter in this situation," said Isaac. "We're here to offer support or advice, but if you two think you're ready, then you're the only ones who can make that decision."

"Thank you," said Sveta. "That means a lot, coming from you two."

Of course, deep down, Matthew wasn't sure they'd be so supportive if they knew the truth about how the arrangement had begun. As far as his parents knew, he married Sveta out of nothing but love, and the baby naturally followed shortly after. Yes, he loved her now, and she him. But for Isaac and Jenna to know that their grandchild had been conceived because of what was not only a political move, but a _last resort_, would be disastrous for everyone involved.

It felt uncomfortable to lie to them like this. So Matthew changed the subject.

"So what have you two been up to these days?" he asked. "It was a surprise to hear from you today. Not an unpleasant one, of course, but did you come by on a whim, or is there a greater purpose in mind?"

Jenna pursed her lips. She looked at Isaac.

"We were in the neighbourhood," he said. "It's true that we intended to come by eventually, but in this case, we happened to be nearby at the time."

"Passaj," explained Jenna. "It was a short hop over the mountains. No big deal."

This "short hop" had taken Matthew's group approximately a full week and no small amount of anxiety. But then, most of the anxiety came from repairing ancient mechanisms, and fighting monsters. For his parents, the mechanisms would already be working, and the monsters would be barely worth mentioning.

Still, though. "What were you doing in Passaj?" asked Sveta, as if reading Matthew's mind (though with the absence of psynergy, he knew she had not). "That is quite a distance from Kalay."

"We've been making the rounds," said Isaac. "All of us, I mean. You of course remember the proclamation from Tuaparang?"

"Of course," said Sveta. They probably wouldn't have been sitting there right then, if not for the proclamation.

"Well, we looked into it," he continued. "We can't find any evidence that the Tuaparang are planning anything big, or making major moves in any direction. They took us by surprise last time with the Eclipse, but now we know what to look for."

"We're essentially telling people not to give up," said Jenna. "We're almost certain that this whole thing is a bluff. A 'surrender or die' declaration to every major government on the planet seems far from credible, but even so, a lot of people I would generally consider wise are giving the threat more attention than it deserves."

"...Like Unan?" asked Sveta.

Jenna winced. "You heard about that already?" she asked.

In general, the leaders of Weyard's nations had stuck to their original decisions regarding the Tuaparang ultimatum. Those who sided with the Empire stayed with the Empire, those who rejected it as a bluff held their ground. But very recently, Sana's royal family as a whole had abdicated the throne and declared fealty to the High Empyror of Tuaparang.

Many others were looking at the decision of the former Emperor Unan, renowned for his wisdom and foresight, and wondering if they should perhaps follow suit.

"It seems absurd," said Sveta. "Unan of all people knows that Tuaparang can be defeated, and he is hardly one whom I would consider fearful for his own life."

"I admit I'm not terribly useful when it comes to politics, but if anyone in Ei-Jei was going to give in, I'd have expected it to be Kaocho," added Matthew.

"Emperor Ko is very proud," said Isaac. "I don't think 'surrender' is part of his vocabulary. He'd be concerned with preserving his own life, sure, but not to the extent that he'd be willing to live under someone else's rule."

"At any rate," said Jenna, "I don't think Unan's choice was motivated by self-preservation at all." She took a bite, considering her words before she continued. "We weren't there. It was Sheba and Piers who were going to stop at Tonfon. But if it's anyone, I'm not surprised it was Unan."

"He cares for his family quite deeply," said Isaac.

Sveta and Matthew both froze.

They looked at each other with concern.

"...What has that to do with anything?" asked Sveta. "I would assume one who 'cares for his family' would work to keep them safe from the rule of a tyrannical despot."

"I'd think so too, especially when he knows there's nothing to lose from refusing the ultimatum," said Isaac. "I guess when Sheba and Piers spoke to him though, he wasn't convinced."

"No, but the message threatened the monarchs themselves," said Sveta. "I remember it quite clearly. The ambassador told me, me personally, that if I refused, I would be killed. I assumed the message was the same everywhere."

"It was," said Jenna. "But the Empyror wouldn't single out just the leading member of a royal family. He doesn't have a grudge against the current set of world leaders, he fears opposition."

Sveta went pale.

"Unan fears not for his own safety," she said, "but for the safety of his heirs. Oh, gods..."

"But again, there's nothing to worry about," continued Jenna. "The Tuaparang have no way to take out an individual monarch, let alone an entire family."

"That's actually why we figured Morgal wouldn't need the lecture," said Isaac. "If you took the threat seriously at all, you probably wouldn't have married our son."

Sveta stared intently at her plate. Her words from that fateful night, so many months ago, bubbled to the surface of Matthew's mind.

_As Queen, it is my job to take every threat seriously._

"Oh, gods..." she whispered again.

Matthew cleared his throat loudly. "Well, of course we have to consider it," he said, "but we agree that it isn't particularly likely. And even if it was, we're taking precautions to-"

Sveta stood suddenly. "I apologize," she said. "Something requires my immediate attention. I will return soon."

She walked toward the door, slowly at first, but picking up speed as she approached the exit, to the point where she was at a full run by the time she had left the room.

Matthew pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "Oh, fuck..." he muttered.

"Matth-!" Jenna began with a gasp. Then she caught herself. She cleared her throat. "Apologies, Your Majesty. I have no objection to your... language."

"What's wrong?" asked Isaac, having never given a single fucking shit about his son's occasionally foul goddamned language.

"Without getting into too much detail," said Matthew, "Sveta definitely took the threat seriously. She just never took it as a threat intended for anyone other than herself. At the time, she had no need to. Then we got hitched, and..." He sighed. "Yeah. I think it's just hitting her now."

"Oh," said Isaac. "Well, fuck."

"_Isaac!_" hissed Jenna. Then she raised her voice to a more normal volume. "I'm sorry, Matthew. It was insensitive of us to assume."

"It was bound to happen eventually," said Matthew. "For the record, if anything does happen, I think we're safer now as a couple, and I don't think the baby will be in any danger whatsoever. All I have to do is convince Sveta of the same thing."

He stood and bowed in apology. "I'll be back before long. Sorry for the interruption."

"No problem," said Isaac. "Go get 'em, tiger."

It didn't take long to find her once Matthew started looking. There was a deserted meeting room just down the hall, and when he tried to open it, the door was locked. He heard sobbing on the other side.

"Sveta?" he called. "Can I come in?"

Sveta's voice drifted through the door. "Matthew, I think we should divorce, and you should accept your parents' offer of help raising the child as I will be unable to acknowledge his existence."

Matthew let his head bump lightly against the doorframe. "And with all due respect, I think you're overreacting. Instead of abandoning all hope, we should talk about ways to prepare. Alright?"

"...I am not overreacting..."

"Then you're planning on how to prevent the Tuaparang agenda, if it even exists, from taking hold? Instead of crying and panicking, I mean. That's good, can I help you plan?"

There was a moment of silence, followed by the shuffling of feet.

The door opened. Sveta stood before him. Her outfit was immaculate, but her makeup was slightly smeared.

"Do not patronize me," she warned.

Matthew held his hands up defensively. "I'm not patronizing you," he said. "You're the most rational, clear-headed person I know. If you put your mind to this, especially with my help, I know it's a problem that can be solved. How about it?"

She looked doubtful, but she nodded. She stood aside, allowing him to enter, then shut the door and locked it again.

"What about your parents?" asked Sveta. "I hope I did not embarrass you when I left..."

"Don't worry, they're fine. We won't be here long anyway," said Matthew. "All we need to do is think of a few ideas, just to prove it's an issue we can tackle on our own time. Then we can get back to dinner."

"I no longer feel hungry," said Sveta. "I know it is just nerves, but... Matthew, I hoped to bring a child into the world as a way to help support my people after I am gone. Now I have grown attached to our son, despite not yet having met him, and while that would normally be a good thing..."

Matthew shook his head. "We won't let anything happen to him," he said. "If all else fails, we'll make sure the plan that succeeds is the one that saves him. I promise."

Sveta smiled. "That is hardly a logical suggestion, but it is one I will accept. Step one, I suppose, is to think of how this threat could possibly be credible, or rather, how they would put it into action. Then we can go about planning to defeat it."

"Right. So, what sorts of things could simultaneously kill every monarch in the world..."

Sveta crossed her arms thoughtfully. "Assassins?" she asked.

"If it's assassins, we've already won," said Matthew. "But I'll stay in fighting shape, and once the baby's born, you and I can take up sparring or something. What about... monsters, maybe? Like, a dragon."

Sveta raised an eyebrow. "You think the Empyror would send a dragon to kill us?"

"Yeah, probably not. Uh... illness? Some kind of plague, maybe?"

"Not if he only intends to kill royals," said Sveta. "We can plan to host extra healers and physicians, however. Perhaps we should be thinking smaller. Deathtraps, or explosives? Poison, even?"

"Healers would solve poison," said Matthew. "Deathtraps and explosives, we can defeat by being unpredictable. As the deadline approaches, we could leave the city in secret and tell no one where we're going. Vasilli could take over in our stead."

"That would place him in danger, though."

"Yeah, good point. Hmm... is there any way we can make it seem like we're still around, even though we're gone?"

Sveta shrugged. "Perhaps. We can think on this later."

"What I'm wondering is how he even plans to identify royals to target them," said Matthew. "He can't expect them all to stay at home."

Her eyes lit up.

"What?" asked Matthew.

"I know how to save our son," Sveta said. She snapped her fingers. "What if there is a royal family member that the Empyror is unaware of?"

Matthew caught on quickly. "It doesn't matter how he's finding people. He can't kill someone he doesn't know exists."

"News of my pregnancy is likely spreading, but we can put a stopper on that," she replied. "I can stay home at the castle so no one sees it progressing, and when the baby is born, we keep him hidden as well as possible. If nothing happens after the year is up, we announce him to the world. That way, even if there is a true threat, and even if we cannot protect ourselves..."

"...Our son survives," finished Matthew, "and the throne of Morgal stays safe as a bonus. Sveta, you're a genius."

"You are the one who inspired me," said Sveta. But she blushed modestly all the same.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked. "We can head back to dinner, if you want. It's a good place to start putting the plan into action, too; ask my parents if they can keep your pregnancy a secret, and when our son is born-"

"Artyom," said Sveta.

"Bless you. When our son is born, they could help keep him hidden by-"

"No, that is his name," said Sveta. "Artyom. I have decided."

Matthew furrowed his brow. "Oh," he said. "I, uh... that's tough for me to pronounce."

Sveta stuck out her tongue. "Lucky you, then, for you have a few more months of practice. I think it fits. Prince Artyom. It has a ring to it."

Matthew smirked. "Or Princess Artyom. Queen Artyom."

Sveta punched him lightly on the arm. She stood and led the way to the door. "I should stop at a washroom and tidy myself up," she said. "You can keep your parents company until-"

She froze, hand halfway to the door handle.

"What's wrong?" asked Matthew.

Sveta raised a finger for silence.

Then her ears flicked, and she grabbed his hand. She placed it on her belly.

"What? What's up?" he asked again.

Then he felt it.

_Thump._

Matthew's jaw dropped.

"Is... is that...?"

Sveta smiled mischievously. "You think that little bump is impressive? Just wait until I teach him to kick _properly._"

* * *

_now_

* * *

Annah had calmed down somewhat by the time they reached Artyom's room. Putting her power into the light source like that had probably helped. The light itself was soothing in its own way. Along the trip, it had flared up on occasion, especially in the minutes immediately after the fight, when Annah's mood was most volatile; by the end, however, it was calm and even, like a twinkling star in the night. It hurt to look directly at it, but the warm, golden light that Annah cast made their surroundings feel more safe, more alive.

"This is it," he said when they reached the correct room. When the star was angled to light the way inside, though, he felt a sinking feeling in his gut. It was the first time he'd seen the room in anything but dim torchlight, and while there was nothing wrong with the room itself, it felt... barren. In one corner was a bedroll. At the foot of it was a bag of supplies – first aid, medicine, some emergency clothing – and there was some ash beneath a torch holster near the room's entrance.

Annah made a gesture with her hand like brushing away dirt, and the light flew across to the centre of the room, sticking to the ceiling. It dimmed slightly, but still lit everything more brightly and more naturally than the torch ever had.

She stepped in. "...It's functional," she said tactfully. "Seems very _you._ It does what it needs to without mucking about with the pretty details."

"It was only ever going to be a temporary home," Artyom said, trying to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. "Decorations and other homey-touches would only take up space and add weight. If we needed to pack up without any notice – and it's happened before – then they'd probably get left behind anyway."

Annah nodded. She stepped inside gingerly, as if to avoid displacing the thin layer of dust on the temple floor. The room seemed even more empty with her standing in the middle of it, looking around; Artyom felt a stroke of relief when she moved to the corner and sat down on his bedroll – marginally more comfortable than sitting on cold stone.

She patted the spot next to her, then folded her hands calmly.

When Artyom joined her – carefully sitting on her right, though not making a show of it, as he wasn't sure he trusted her enough to reveal that particular weakness – she asked him, "Do you ever wish you could quit moving around? That you could find a place to call home, for good?"

Artyom frowned. "I guess," he said. "I never really thought about it. Right now, I get antsy when we stay in one place for too long. But that's because of the obvious danger. The longer we wait, the more likely it is that the Tuaparang will find us and kill us." He took off his battered shield and tossed it into the corner near his bag of supplies. "Maybe once we win, I'll give it a try. I heard that my Mom was always running away from home, tossing her responsibilities aside to chase the wind. It wouldn't surprise me if I turned out that way, too."

He felt Annah's eyes bore into him, but when he glanced her way, the expression he expected to see on her face – one of frustration, or maybe resentment – was nowhere to be found. He saw... pain. Sympathy.

She pulled her legs in, wrapping her arms around them. "I remember my mother, but only barely," she said. "I know, consciously, that she took care of me, and when I think of her I get a good feeling." Annah gripped her hands. "But my only memory of her is the last time I saw her. It... it was right after it all ended. At the time, I didn't know what she was doing. Now I think the pressure must have broken her. She thought... it would be better than the alternative."

Annah turned her face away, and her light on the ceiling dimmed. "My mother tried to kill me," she said. "I was two years old. I remember her standing over me with a knife. I screamed and ran, and... and she told me it was okay, and to demonstrate, she opened her own wrists..."

_Oh, hell._ "What about your father?" asked Artyom, thoroughly torn between trying to comfort her and trying to understand her. He didn't know if it was possible to do both.

"He was in Belinsk at the time," said Annah. "I don't remember him."

"...I'm sorry."

"It's in the past," replied Annah. "I dealt with it. I ran away, and I suppose my mother died shortly after. There were soldiers around our house in Saha when I checked later. I lived on the streets from then on, up until I..." She hesitated. "Until I was adopted by my current family."

Artyom didn't know how to answer. He didn't have much in the way of social experience. What could he say? "It's incredible that you managed to get this far, then," he muttered. "I mean, Matthew's a good-for-nothing drunk. But he took care of me until I could handle myself, at least."

The light flared again, and Artyom had to squint until his eyes adjusted. When he could see properly, Annah looked comfortable, yet guarded, her legs extended on the floor before her and her arms folded across her chest.

Her eyes flashed. "How well do you trust King Matthew?" she asked.

"That depends on your definition," Artyom replied. "If trust means reliability, then no, I can barely trust him to get out of bed in the morning. But I trust him not to stab me in the back."

"If he was trustworthy, then wouldn't he have been in Belinsk when Tuaparang attacked too?" asked Annah. "If he cared about our people, he would've stuck around, tried to put a stop to it before it happened. Hell, if the royals gave a damn, they would have accepted the Empyror's demands, rather than presume to be able to resist him."

"With respect, Annah," said Artyom, "I don't think you know what the hell you're talking about. What's your problem with the royals?"

"Aside from the fact that they let all our people die, all in a single night?" spat Annah. "I don't know, not much. Tell me, how long have you been in King Matthew's care?"

"How long?" He paused. Annah must not have realized he was Matthew's son. That would be why she was so vocal in her hatred of the royal family. Artyom's family. "Most of my life," he finished truthfully.

Annah clicked her tongue. "That explains a lot."

"Matthew and Sveta didn't let the beastmen die. They wanted to spare them from a life of glorified slavery," said Artyom. "They wanted to save them from the world we now live in."

"They sure as hell succeeded."

"You know that's not what I mean, Annah."

"Why does it matter?" asked Annah. "Say what you want about life these days, but we're at peace. It'll get better. I'm glad the Empire rules us as it does, and though I wish the price hadn't been so steep, I have no regrets. The High Empyror did what he had to, to ensure the stability of his world-nation. If only our royals had been willing to bow their heads a little rather than spit in His Holiness's face."

"But-"

"And that brings us back to you," she continued. "To the resistance, if that's what you can even call it. A drunken false-king, and the dashing warrior he raised in servitude."

"Dashing?"

"I caught that wink, you know," said Annah, "right after you smashed through the window."

Artyom shrugged, but he couldn't hold back a hint of a smile.

"You never thought to question it," Annah told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "The old King made sure of that, I bet. But think about what you did today. Setting aside, for a moment, that murder is wrong... what do you think the Tuaparang army will do in response to your attacks?"

"Shore up their defenses," said Artyom without hesitation. He'd seen it happen countless times. "Increase security, find ways to keep the guards more alert. It makes things a little more difficult for me."

"But you can get around it," said Annah. "It's tougher, but it's never gotten the better of you. Meanwhile, the innocent townsfolk have to deal with the side-effects."

"...Side-effects?"

"Increased security means the townspeople are under a more watchful eye," she explained. "The guards are on edge. They're more likely to jump at shadows. But most importantly, they start interrogating people, looking for witnesses, or better yet, cohorts. Did you know they think the 'resistance' is a massive group hiding out among the population?"

Artyom nodded.

"Then it really should have occurred to you," she said, "that the Tuaparang would have started picking up suspicious individuals for interrogation. That thanks to you, innocent civilians are being put through all sorts of hell. And in the end, it doesn't even earn you anything. Because by now, popular opinion has turned against the resistance. Enlistment in the Tuaparang protection force has skyrocketed. For each soldier you kill, two civilians sign up to take his place. You can't win, Artyom," finished Annah. "All you do is make things worse."

There was a long silence. "...I hadn't considered that," said Artyom.

"Again, it's not your fault," said Annah. She gently took his hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry for getting mad at you earlier. It's all Matthew's fault for raising you this way. I don't know what happened to your parents, but I'm sure they didn't want you to end up like this. Not as Matthew's personal assassin, going out and exacting indiscriminate revenge."

"All I want is to make things better. I want the Tuaparang to leave us alone," said Artyom. "Leave the citizens of Weyard to their own devices. Let us rebuild in peace."

"But the Tuaparang are helping us rebuild!" said Annah. "They're in charge now, and that means they have a vested interest in our well-being."

"Yeah? What about the ruins of Belinsk? Of Kalay, and Champa, and Ayuthay?"

Annah looked away. "What's done is done," she said. "All I know is, you and I might be the only two beastmen left in the world. For the first time in ages, it's like there's someone else in the world who might feel how I feel. This... loneliness." She shifted closer. "I'm glad we met, but I wish you weren't so devoted to pointless anarchy. I want us to be able to stick together, or at least give it a try. I won't fight the Tuaparang but I think I can help you understand why you don't need to, either."

Artyom looked in her eyes, then at her hand, still grasping his. It was an odd feeling, being so near someone. Someone he could rely on, at least. He'd been alone for so long, he didn't know how to deal with the emotion of trust anymore.

"...I need to give it some thought," he said softly. "I can't just give in to the Empire. Not after everything they've done."

There was a pang of sadness in Annah's eyes. "Just tell me this," she said. "If Matthew had made a different decision – if he had chosen to give Morgal over to Tuaparang – your mother would still be alive today, wouldn't she?"

Artyom thought about it.

He laughed. "I guess so," he said. "Technically, Matthew's responsible for my mother's death... after a fashion."

* * *

_then_

* * *

There was a flicker of recognition in Sveta's eyes, a spark of lucidity beneath the smooth haze of opium.

"Matthew?" she said. "Hello. Nice to see you again."

He smiled. "Hey. Look who I brought." He lowered the bundle in his arms.

Sveta's eyes twinkled. "Artyom! My son!" she gasped. The sudden exertion sent her into a coughing fit. When she got a hold of her self again, she began to shiver. "Thank you for keeping him warm. There is... a chill."

Matthew frowned. "Yeah," he said, lowering their child toward her waiting arms. "So I hear."

She couldn't hold him very tightly. The best Matthew could do was lie Artyom down on Sveta's chest, and it was with some difficulty that she rested her hands on the baby's back. Her breathing was shallow.

There was a nurse standing a few feet away from Sveta's bed. "Does she need anything?" Matthew asked her. "Any medication, or food, or..."

The nurse shook her head. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. We've done all we can for now."

Matthew felt a pain in his chest. The tone, the finality of those words, hit him like a chisel, and the events of the past few days were the hammer striking it. He swallowed hard.

"How do you feel?" he asked Sveta.

His words seemed to snap her out of a dream. Her eyes wavered, then rested upon him. She frowned in confusion.

"Sick," she said. "And distant. I know not why." She turned her head slightly, and Artyom caught her eyes again. Her face lit up.

Then it contorted in agony. She cried out.

The nurse reacted immediately. She seized a small syringe filled with a thick, clear liquid, swabbed Sveta's arm, and pressed the needle in.

Artyom began to cry.

When the opium syringe was empty, the nurse pulled it away. Sveta turned to Matthew again, sweat beading on her forehead. "It hurts, Matthew," she said. "Please... please make it stop."

Matthew's fingers twitched. His stomach churned. "...Just give it a moment," he said.

Sveta shut her eyes in agony. "You said it would be alright, you promised, you..." And then she relaxed. Her eyes drifted open again, even cloudier than before. Her mouth dropped open slightly.

"...Better," she breathed. Her eyes found Artyom again. She smiled. "Hello!" she said weakly.

The baby continued to cry.

Matthew stepped forward cautiously, looking at the nurse for confirmation. When she nodded grimly, expression full of sympathy, he knelt and took Sveta's hand.

He wanted to tell her she'd get better soon, but he knew that wasn't true. He wanted to tell her he'd keep her kingdom safe, but he wasn't sure she'd understand in her current state. So instead, he talked about their two-day-old son.

"He's beautiful," said Matthew, blinking back tears. "He looks just like you. He'll... he'll make a good king."

"Someday," agreed Sveta. "Has Volechek met him yet?"

Matthew looked at her blankly.

"My brother," she said. "Have they met? I am certain they would get along well."

Matthew looked at the nurse, who shrugged. "...I'm sorry, love," he said, "but Volechek's gone."

Sveta's ears flicked. The familiar expression twisted his heartstrings.

"But he was just here," said Sveta. "I saw him, only minutes ago. He stood, just... there. Near where you were. He watched me. He looked so happy."

Again, Matthew looked at the nurse. Now, her hand was over her mouth. She met his eyes and shook her head gently. No one had come in recently.

"...Do you think that I will see him again?" asked Sveta. "Will I see my brother Volechek soon?"

Matthew couldn't hold his tears back any longer.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. I think you'll be with him again very soon."

Her glassy eyes watched him with confusion as he stood up and kissed her forehead.

"I think I need some air," he said through a tightened throat. "Is it... is it okay, or...?"

"I'll come and get you if anything happens," said the nurse. "It... won't be sudden."

Matthew wiped his eyes, then bent over and hugged his wife and son tightly. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. I wish I could help. I'll be back soon."

He pulled away quickly, but a gentle hand tugged at his sleeve.

"I love you," said Sveta. "Come back with me before long."

Matthew nodded. "I love you, too. Stay strong for me."

Then he pulled away, hurried down the hall, and as soon as he heard the door swing shut, he gave up. He collapsed.

He didn't dare cry out, for risk of alerting Sveta in her current state. But he bit down on his hand instead as a stand-in, hoping it would burn off some of his excess emotion. He stopped when he tasted blood.

Sveta was going to die.

"It's bullshit," he whispered. "It's all just fucking bullshit. What's the _fucking_ point?! Why even bother, why _fucking_ bother..."

All their work, all their planning, all their worrying, all their promises, all their practicing, all their growing, all their learning, all their loving, all for naught. The Tuaparang were never a threat. And the whole future Matthew and his wife had dreamed of, the prosperous reign of the re-formed royal family, had all been brought crashing down because Sveta would not survive childbirth.

He loved his son. Two days, just two days, and Matthew already loved his son. But he would unmake him in a second if it would spare his wife.

Because he had made her a promise. A promise he'd been unable to keep.

_I do not want to die,_ she had said.

Then minutes later, with the very best of intentions, he had condemned her. And they'd enjoyed every moment of it.

"Fuck it. Fuck this whole kingdom, fuck this castle, fuck this life." No one was around to hear him, and some part of him was thankful for the fact. "I should never have said yes. I should've just left her to..." To what? To find someone else? If she had chosen another husband, would she have made it through birth? Or would saying no have merely allowed her to choose another executioner?

He pushed himself up off the floor, using the wall to steady himself, leaving small spots of blood wherever he placed his hand. He didn't care. He didn't care about much anymore.

He made his way to the balcony at the end of the hall. He pushed open the doors and stepped out, gripping the handrail tightly.

The stars and moon shone down brightly on the city of Belinsk. How many times had Sveta brought him out to stargaze with her? He'd found it silly at first, but... how long until he had grown to love it? Until he dragged Sveta out instead?

He found himself glancing to his right, where she should have been standing. He reached out a hand to where her face should have been tilted toward him, with eyes full of adoration. He half-expected to touch something. To feel her face, full of life, full of anticipation for the child they would raise together.

He felt nothing.

He rested against the handrail again, looked at the vast drop below, and wondered how long it would take to fall.

He wondered if he could somehow prepare the afterlife for her if he made it there first-

"Your Majesty?" called a voice. Male, not the nurse. "Would... would you rather be alone, or...?"

It was the Chancellor. "No, Vasilli," said Matthew. "It's fine. But... please don't be formal. I don't want to think about the throne. I don't want to think about anything."

"...Matthew, then," said Vasilli. "I think that's alright. I can't... I can't even begin to comprehend what you're going through-"

"Can I let you in on a secret, Vas?" he asked, half-slumped over the handrail. "This was supposed to be a fucking safeguard. Sveta came to me after the ultimatum because she was _terrified._ She thought the Tuaparang were going to kill her. She was so desperate that she asked me, right out of the blue, to help give her an heir so that her throne didn't die with her. We got married so that it would seem normal, and so I could take over if anything went wrong. I didn't have to fall in love with her. But I did."

Vasilli's eyes widened. He looked out over the city. "This revelation is... somewhat shocking," he said. "I never thought of Her Majesty as someone who would do that sort of thing."

"Yeah. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. But I'm breaking all sorts of promises today." Matthew propped himself back up. "I'm not saying it to make you think Sveta's a slut or anything. I just want you to know exactly how devoted she was to your country. She refused to give you all up to the Tuaparang, but knew the risks of her doing so. Artyom exists to replace her, and the only reason I'm his father is because Sveta thought I would be reliable enough to keep him safe."

"...I will admit, that does sound like something she'd do."

"Yep, I'm all sorts of reliable," spat Matthew sarcastically. "Letting my wife die, slowly and painfully, while I'm out here spilling secrets. I can't be a father, Vas. I'm eighteen. Hell, I can't even be king. I don't know shit about politics. I'm all about leading by example and inspirational speeches. Sveta made a mistake in choosing me. And I made a mistake in letting her."

Vasilli rested against the handrail, joining his king in pre-emptive mourning. "I have a wife and daughter, too," he said. "My girl was born during the Eclipse. And the whole time I was thinking, how can I protect them? What kind of a father am I, when I can't even defend my family from these creatures of the abyss?"

"So what'd you do?"

"Nothing," said Vasilli. "I got lucky. I kept my wife and daughter fed and hidden. The creatures didn't find us. They would have eventually, but the Eclipse ended first. You, Matthew, saved my family's lives. You and Sveta. For that, I owe your family a debt."

"...Yeah."

"What I'm saying," continued the Chancellor, "is that I am willing to provide any help you need. If you're serious about what you're saying – if you don't think you can take care of Artyom alone – then we can take him in. My wife and I can raise him. It would keep him safe from those who might wish him harm, and give you time to get your life back in order."

Now, that was an idea.

Matthew loved his son. If he couldn't take care of Artyom, wouldn't it be best to give him over to someone who could? Someone who had already demonstrated that they could be a capable parent? No one would have to know, not until Artyom came of age and took the throne himself.

What would Sveta think?

It didn't matter. Sveta was dying.

Fuck it all.

"That's a very generous offer," said Matthew. "I don't know if I can take you up on it, but I appreciate you putting it forward. I'll... I'll think on it."

"By all means, take your time."

When Sveta asked him to marry her, he'd known what he was getting into. He was consenting to be a teen father just to help a friend. But the fact of the matter was, she was supposed to help him. He couldn't be a single father. All this was in place in case the Tuaparang threat turned out to be credible. But she was never supposed to actually die.

"I need to go be with her," said Matthew. "It's painful to see her this way, but I owe it to her. I owe it to Artyom, too. We aren't going to be a family much longer. May as well cherish it while it lasts."

"If it's any consolation, Your Majesty-"

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry. I just wanted to say, the Queen's Spirit Sense has taught us one thing for certain. You'll see her again one day."

Matthew nodded. He wiped his eyes. "I guess I will."

He returned to Sveta, and this time, he stayed with her. He refused to leave her side for the rest of her life.

She didn't see daybreak.

* * *

_now_

* * *

When Artyom woke, he was not alone. That had never happened before.

He tried to jerk away, only to find that his arm was trapped and numb. He panicked, instinctively thinking that he had been captured or imprisoned against his will.

Then his mind caught up to his actions, and he began to recall the events of the previous evening.

Annah shifted on his arm. She turned her head toward him, one eye opening sleepily above her heart-shaped tattoo. "Is it morning already?" she asked.

"No way to tell," Artyom said. "Feels like it, though. If you want to stay here awhile, I've got no problem with it." He pulled his arm out from under her, stretching it and moving it around to try to wake it back up.

She had shared his bedroll. It didn't go any further than that – they were both still fully dressed – but somehow, they trusted each other that much in spite of everything. It simply felt like the right thing to do. Artyom didn't know what the day would bring. He knew he had planned to pack up and leave with his father. But if Annah refused to join them, he knew there was a chance he'd abandon the plan altogether.

"What are you going to do?" he asked her, fully aware that his entire future might hinge on her response.

She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling for several excruciating seconds.

"I think I'm going to go home," she said.

"...I see."

"I'm sorry, Artyom. If you stay with the resistance, if you don't at least change the way you rebel, we can't be together."

"I understand."

"If you decided to join the Tuaparang, though-"

"No," said Artyom. "I can't. That's just not me." He sighed. "You were right in a lot of ways. I'm going to find a way to fight the oppression without spilling blood. But I can't just side with them. That's not who I am. It's not who I was born to be."

Annah took his hand and smiled. "A lot of things have happened since you were born," she said. "It's your life, though. If you need to leave, then leave. I won't report you or anything. Maybe we'll even run into each other again."

"I hope so."

"I'm sorry, Artyom."

"Me too."

Annah summoned another light source for the centre of the room. It was dim, so their eyes could adjust, but Artyom could see well enough to collect his things. He put on his armor, packed his bedroll, and gathered his emergency gear while Annah watched thoughtfully.

She stopped him at the door.

"I know we've spent most of our time arguing, but I think things could have been better eventually," she said, very businesslike. "It's good to know that our differences in opinion were something we could get past."

Artyom smiled sadly. "I think we'll meet again," he said. "I'll make it a point to find you if I'm in the neighbourhood."

"Yeah, but... just in case you don't..."

She put a hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes. She hesitated, glancing away in uncertainty. Then she looked back on him, her gaze softened, then hardened with sudden conviction.

She leaned in and kissed him.

When Artyom was certain that his heart wasn't going to literally explode in his chest, he smiled. "Okay, now I'll _definitely_ try to find you again."

"I look forward to it," said Annah with a grin.

The walk back to the secret entrance was much slower and quieter. There was so much left to say, and yet nothing to be said. They both knew that the moment they walked out the door, everything would go back to the way it was. Artyom would become a terrorist once again, and Annah would be... whatever she was. A Tuaparang sympathizer, he suspected.

But that didn't make sense, he realized. When he first saw her, she was being escorted by four elite guards. Even if they were picking up a suspect for interrogation, they wouldn't have devoted so many resources to just one person. And what about her reaction after he killed them?

His stomach dropped. Had they been her _honor guard?_

He banished the thought from his mind, despite the puzzle fitting perfectly. He didn't care who she was. She was Annah. If she wanted to hurt him, she'd have done it while he was asleep. She was utterly trustworthy.

And she was also Tuaparang. Apparently the two weren't mutually exclusive.

They reached the entrance. It still reeked heavily of alcohol; apparently his father hadn't cleaned up the previous day's spill as he said he would. Not that it particularly mattered anymore, now that they were vacating the premises.

Artyom whistled loudly as he approached Matthew's room. "Hey, rise and shine!" he called. "Get up, grab your things. We're moving out."

The whistle echoed quietly through the halls. He heard nothing.

"Probably still asleep," Artyom muttered, rolling his eyes. He stepped around Annah and strode toward the door.

"Wakey-wakey, Matthew!" he called again. "You alive, old man?"

He stepped inside.

Matthew was bundled upright against the wall.

He wasn't moving.

"Hey, Matthew?" Artyom said once more. "You can't still be hung over..."

And once more, there was no response.

Artyom gingerly drew closer. He couldn't see Matthew's face properly.

He knelt down next to the bundle. "Matthew?" he whispered. "...Dad?"

He shook Matthew's shoulder lightly. The blankets fell away. The old king's eyes were half-open and glassy, staring into empty space. His lips had a faint tint of blue.

He was cold.

"Oh, fuck..."

Artyom fell back on his rear. "Oh, gods. Oh gods, no..."

"What?" asked Annah, poking her head in.

"He's dead," said Artyom. "Matthew... my father's dead."

"Your... wait, _what?!_"

"My father died overnight," he continued. "He might have been dying already when I spoke to him yesterday, and I had no way of knowing. The last thing he said to me was 'I love you, stay safe,' and my response was to basically dismiss him. Oh, hell..." He crawled forward and embraced his father's body. "I'm so sorry. I should've... I should've done something..."

"Okay, I know this is a bad time," said Annah, "but you mean figuratively, right? Like, he's your adopted father-"

"I hear he was never really the same after Mom died," said Artyom. "My mother, Queen Sveta. She died in childbirth. I wish I could have seen them together."

"You're a fucking _royal?!_" cried Annah, her face a mixture of shock and disgust.

"I'm not," said Artyom. "As I said, my mother died when I was born. Then the Tuaparang destroyed my kingdom. I never learned to be royal, and despite my blood, I'm the prince of no one. Anyway, what kind of a prince spends his days running from city to city, killing people because they sided with the wrong man?"

"Oh, now you get sentimental-"

"My father's dead!" Artyom shouted, standing so suddenly that he felt her psynergy charge in reflex. "The only constant thing I've known in my entire life, is gone! He may not have been the best parent, but he _fucking_ tried, and he always cared, even when I was a total asshole to him!" He turned back and looked at the body with guilt. "And that says something, because I've been an asshole to him every single day for years. He didn't deserve a bit of it. He always put my needs before his. If I'd paid a bit more attention, or tried harder to make him take care of himself... maybe he'd still be alive."

Annah frowned.

"He taught me to take care of myself," continued Artyom. "He taught me to fight, and to hide, and to get what I needed. I owe him my life. I owe him everything. Now he's gone... and I don't know what to do." He knelt again next to the body. "Annah, I don't give a damn about your prejudices, or your blame-game. Matthew was a good man. Now he's dead. I feel... lost."

"...Well, what will you do?" asked Annah, keeping her voice diplomatically neutral.

"I'll bury him, I guess," said Artyom. "Then... I have no idea."

Annah blinked slowly, eyes scanning the nearly-empty room. There was a flicker of something behind her expression, but it was gone before Artyom even realized it was there.

"I'll help you," said Annah. "I'll help you bury him, when you're ready to. For now, I think I should give you some time alone with him. Call me when you need me."

She ducked back out of the room. Artyom was alone.

The first thing he did was close his father's eyes. He cursed himself for taking so long to provide that bit of dignity.

The second thing he did was wonder what to say. Even when Matthew had been alive, Artyom never knew how to get a conversation going. They had little in common. Despite traveling together for almost eighteen years, they mostly kept their own company.

Matthew had been like an anchor for Artyom. Far away, deep out of sight, yet keeping him grounded right where he needed to be. All he could do now was watch where the current took him.

"Didn't Mom know how to speak with the dead or something?" muttered Artyom. "I think I heard rumors like that. That sure would be nice to do right about now."

Matthew didn't reply. Naturally.

"Not a lot I can say now," Artyom continued. "I'll miss you, old man. I'm sorry for being an ass. You... you deserved better."

He leaned in, trying to ignore the smell of death underlying the lingering vapors of alcohol. "I guess I'm sorry for killing Mom when I came out, too. I'm... sorry for being born."

He tried to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. It had been so long since he let himself feel any of the pain the world inflicted on him, he wasn't sure he remembered how.

So he swallowed, and he clasped his father's body on its shoulder. "You deserved better," he said again.

Annah was waiting against the wall when he left the room.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

Artyom shook his head. "Sometimes that's just how life treats you," he said. "I just wish I knew where to go from here. In all honesty, I could just keep doing what I was doing. Matthew barely did anything but slow me down, once he started drinking. Now that he's gone, though..."

Annah nodded. "You want to find your own way."

"Not only that. I'm afraid that if I continued that life alone, I'd go mad," said Artyom. "Having someone to care for made my actions matter. I knew I'd have someone to talk to if I needed it. With the old man dead, I'm alone. Aside from you, Annah, there is quite literally no one I know left in the entire world."

"...Then I'm sorry we need to part ways."

Artyom leaned against the wall, then let himself sink down into a sitting position.

"Annah," he said, "you haven't been entirely honest with me, have you?"

She looked away. "I've done my best to tell you the truth," she said, "but you're right. I mislead you. And I told you one small lie."

"I thought you were just a Tuaparang sympathizer," Artyom replied calmly. "Am I right to suspect that you're much more than that?"

Annah nodded.

"Not just that, but a military figure," he continued.

She nodded again.

"Despite that, I still trust you," he said. "You could have killed me, or just turned me in outright, but you didn't. And your emotions ring true. I think you really believe in the peace you preach, and I think you believe that the Tuaparang are working to make the world better."

"I do," said Annah.

"...How much power do you have within the organization?" asked Artyom. "Enough to make your dreams a reality?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I guess I have a choice to make," he said. "I could keep fighting in my father's memory, or I can accept that maybe he made a few mistakes. I could go with what I know, or go with what I want to learn. Be lonely, or... find someone new to trust in. I'm frightened. But I think the choice is easy to make."

He picked himself up off the ground.

"I'm enlisting," he said. "I'm going to join the Tuaparang. If people like you have taken over, then... maybe I really can make a difference that way. And at least I won't be alone."

Annah gave him a weak, guilty smile. "I approve of your decision. I wish you hadn't had to make it this way, but I'll support you along every step."

"Thank you, Annah," said Artyom.

She winced. "I... should probably explain the lie I told you," she said. "My name. I was born Annah, but no one's called me that in years."

Artyom shrugged. "You are who you are. But what would you rather I call you?"

She smiled. She raised a finger, pointing to the heart-shaped tattoo on her cheek.

"Chalis," she said. "I'm General Chalis of the Tuaparang. Your father actually killed my predecessor. I guess I have him to thank for my promotion."

Artyom extended a hand. "Pleased to meet you then, Chalis. I look forward to a successful business relationship."

Chalis winked. "Likewise."

They buried King Matthew just outside the temple's secret entrance. Artyom gathered his father's belongings and added them to his own, then they went directly to the recruitment office. Through Chalis' influence, they ignored the warrant out for Artyom's arrest.

Before long, Prince Artyom found himself a proud member of the Tuaparang military.

* * *

_AUTHOR'S NOTES:_

_Sorry it took so long. This single chapter is bigger than most of my one-shots. But this is the note it needed to end on, so there was no point cutting it short._

_Part three coming eventually._


End file.
